The flower beds were still moist, at 5 in the morning. The
dew drops had gently settled onto the petals without disturbing them. The air
was filled with fragrance. A gentle pair of tiny hands caressed the flowers.
Another pair of adept hands picked the fully grown flowers and snapped the stem
avoiding the thorns skilfully.
The flowers went into a basket and were loaded into a van.
The florist thanked the gardener and steered the van onto the bumpy road. The
ride was silent, except for the occasional humming of the florist and the
chirping of the early birds. He approached a serene lake. The morning wind
formed little ripples on the surface. The rising sun filled the park with
crimson. Dry leaves ruffled on the footpath besides the park.
A fleet of hawkers were setting up shops on the footpath. It
was a special day for many, but an ordinary one for most.
The florist sorted the flowers and arranged them according
to their colours and the size of their stem. The florist was happy, he hoped
for a sizeable sale today; after all, what is Valentine’s Day without roses?
The morning walkers and joggers were slowly showing up. Some
were too busy with their I-pods hooked on, as they ran without noticing the
colourful array of flowers on the footpath. Some just smiled at the florist and
walked past.
After an hour or so, a young couple came to the florist. The
guy got a bunch of roses for the girl; she blushed in return. The carnival of
love had begun. A few more couples returning from their walk resorted to a floral
acknowledgement of love. Most of the
college guys heading to the bus-stop nearby got a rose (or more as per need). A
few girls also got some. The florist was happy that natural flowers were still
in, with everything going artificial these days including love.
He was a simple man who believed in fate and its winding
path. He believed that only with another soul’s support and encouragement can
this path be treaded. He married his
neighbour with this hope of love and support. She gave him all she could
including a son and a daughter and lost her life in an accident. The kids are
still young but he seems to be growing older by the day. He had lost his support
in life, his lady love. For him flowers and his children were the only love
left. He had kept aside a beautiful bunch of roses and lilies for his kids. They
would smell them all through the day. He would have to wait there, selling
flowers, till the kids returned from school in the afternoon. He imagined his seven year old daughter’s
laughter filled eyes when he would give her the special button roses he had
saved for her
The florist looked back at the part green part concrete horizon
seemingly floating on the lake. The sun was up now. Most morning walkers were
gone. But he noticed a couple on a stone bench. They were chatting
intermittently and smiling at each other as if they had just met yesterday. The
lady was fragile, her pale skin shone in the sunlight. It was as if she was
inured to nature and some of its ageless beauty had stuck onto her. The man had
a cheer in him, something which cannot be defined in words. He was boiling with
enthusiasm, unexpected of him. It was as if he was the richest man on earth. Suddenly
he stood up and slowly walked towards the florist outside. His spouse was still
seated on the bench.
The beaming florist asked,” How many years into wedlock sir?”
The man said, “Forty
and still counting....”
He winked at the
florist and pointed at a long stemmed red rose. “How much?”
The florist shook his head and said, “It’s a gift for your
madam. Keep it.”
The old man took the rose and lowered his hat to thank the
florist.
He walked back slowly, rose in one hand and his walking
stick in the other.
He kneeled down besides his wife and gave the rose to her. The
old lady accepted gracefully and hugged him with joy.
She said, “That’s thirty-nine in all”
The man laughed and asked, “Isn’t it forty?”
Patting on his back she said,” I gave the first one. You
forgot that, didn’t you?”
Laughing together, he helped her stand up. Leaning on him
she reached the wheel-chair. He went behind it and rolled it over the ramp with
some difficulty. Slowly they made their way back home. It was as if they were
indeed each other’s support. This symbiotic relationship had aged gracefully,
smiling and laughing all the way.
As the park became literally empty, the florist tied all the
left over flowers in the basket. The sun will start scorching soon; he did not
like his flowers burn under the sun. He took them to his cold storage and laid
them in. This would keep them fresh for the evening. He just took his favourite
bunch and locked the storage. He turned back to see his kids running over to
him. He hugged them, both at a time. He gave his little girl her button roses
carefully and gave the rest of the bunch to his son. They were beaming, their
nose stuck to the flowers to check if they are still fragrant.
The florist made sure his one love reached another.......
